I'm Jealous Of Your Cigarette
by EvilEatingSanta
Summary: Written for challenge number 3 of L'il Senzu's 'challenge central'. MR Oneshot. Basically what happens when Roger's jealousy gets a little out of hand...Title from a song by Hawksley Workman


**AN:** Heh, I wrote this because I was getting bored with my other story, Not If You Were The Last Junkie On Earth, but don't worry. I'm not giving up on it! XD This was just for fun...and it was so much fun.

**Disclaimer:** Jonathen Larson's. Not mine.

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I know I'm possessive. Hell, ask anybody and they'll tell you the same. Nobody denies it. I've always liked my own things, and if anybody messes with that, they sure as hell never do it again once I'm through with them. 

My music, my guitar, my cigarettes, my girl. These are all I have, all I need. Though, right at this moment in time, I seem to be lacking that last item on the list.

Mimi broke up with me – _again ­_– after another senseless argument.

"Where have you been all night?" I would ask, clutching her arm fiercely.

"Rog, it's no big deal. I just put in a few extra hours at work," she would say, her large eyes blinking slowly. It would continue like this until we got to the point – if there was one – of the argument.

"You know I don't like you working there," I would tell her, watching as a scowl would slowly slip onto her face.

"Well, I don't have much of a choice, do I? Not until you get a job. A _real_ job," she would correct herself, knowing my unspoken protests of my having a job. I guess my unsteady paycheck as a part of a band doesn't count as a "real job".

"I just don't like knowing other guys are whacking off with pictures of my girlfriend in their heads!" See? Possessive, jealous. All the things I am, all the things that drove Mimi away from me.

Which brings me here, at some club or another, Collins on one side, Mark on the other. I'm told I can be quite unruly when drunk, and it must be true, otherwise Collins' hand wouldn't be placed firmly on my shoulder, his face floating inches in front of mine.

"Hey, Roger," he says, giving me a little shake.

"What?" I ask irritably, bringing my beer bottle back up to my lips.

"You drunk yet?" he questions, making me snort.

"Yes."

"Really?"

"No, of course not. This is my first beer, for fuck's sake," I snap, feeling his hand move off of my shoulder as he sits back.

"Okay, okay, Christ! You were looking all broody, so I figured I might as well ask," he laughs, his arm slinking around Angel's shoulders.

"Who's moody?" she asks, coming out of a conversation with Joanne and Maureen. I guess they're having "relationship issues" again.

"Roger. He was brooding," Collins grins at me, and I resist the urge to strangle him. He makes it seem like I'm some dumb teenager going through puberty.

"Aw, what's wrong?" Angel asks, looking somewhat concerned.

"Nothing," I sigh, glowering at the happy couple.

"See? What'd I tell you?" the anarchist asks Angel, sighing and shaking his head. Angel smiles sympathetically at me before leading Collins away to the dance floor, and I silently thank her for it.

I turn back around, resting my elbow on the table and leaning my head against the heel of my palm, my other hand clutching the half empty beer bottle. I don't know why, but I don't feel like drinking tonight.

My eyes fall on Mark, watching as the filmmaker taps his fingers to the pulsing beat of the music, his head bobbing up and down. He looks like a complete dork. I smirk at the thought and take another swig of beer. Dorky Marky…

"Hey." I almost choke on my beer when I see the guy standing closely next to Mark, his fingertips resting lightly on the table. Where the hell did he come from?

"Um…hi," Mark replies after a while, glancing around to make sure that this guy was, in fact, talking to him and not somebody else.

"You like the music?" the guy asks, and I smirk. Yeah, right. Mark hates this type of music.

"Yeah, it's um…different," Mark replies, making my eyebrows shoot up. What the hell?

"Great! You wanna dance?" I sit up in my chair, wondering if I heard correctly. Who the hell does this guy think he is?

I look at the guys' expensive looking watch, and immediately know that it's fake. Christ, the whole guys' a fucking fake. His hair is dyed bleach blonde and it's spiked up, the tips of the spikes being bright pink. The shirt he's wearing has the sleeves ripped off and the fabric clings tightly to his small frame. His nails are painted black, and now his fingers are tapping impatiently on the table. I glare at him, hoping that somehow he'll get the message and fuck off.

"Um…I'm not really that great of a…" Mark trails, blushing brightly, though it's hard to tell in the dim lighting. I can hear it in his voice.

"I'm sure you dance fine. And if you don't, then it doesn't matter, 'cause you're still really cute." The guy flashes a brilliant smile and I have to stop myself from gagging.

"Move it along, buddy," I mumble, though loud enough so that both Mark and the guy can hear me, "Mark doesn't lean your way." I look up from my beer just in time to catch Mark's mortified look, his eyes shining brightly. I feel lightheaded. Maybe I am drunk…

"And who are you?" the guy asks, quirking an eyebrow.

"Doesn't matter. But Mark's not gonna dance with you…he's not gay." I shrug, noting with some interest that while Mark isn't exactly cheering me on, he's not making any motions to stop me.

"Hmm, how about you let 'Mark' speak for himself?" he asks, and I bristle at the sound of Mark's name coming off of this guy's tongue. It's like poison…or something.

"How about you fuck off?" I growl, gripping my beer bottle so tightly that my knuckles are turning white. The sensible part of me warns me that the glass might shatter. The insensible part of me says it doesn't care.

"Roger…" I hear Mark caution quietly underneath his breath, but I ignore him as I stand up jerkily.

"What the hell is your problem? I just want to dance with him!" the guy exclaims, gesturing to Mark exasperatedly.

"And I told you Mark's not gay!" I practically yell, the table having fallen silent as Maureen and Joanne watch me with wide eyes, their hands clutched together underneath the table.

"Whoa, hey now, Roger." I feel a strong hand on my shoulder pulling me back, and I quickly glance over my shoulder to see Collins, out of breath from dancing, with Angel standing worriedly in the background. "What's up?"

"…this bastard wants to dance with Mark," I mumble, only now realizing how ridiculous that sounds. Collins face goes blank for a moment before he laughs outright, his hand slapping my shoulder lightly as he wipes tears from his eyes.

"Oh man, Roger, you have got to be kidding me!" Collins exclaims, Angel smiling and chuckling under her breath as she walks up to stand next to Collins, wrapping an arm around the anarchist's waist.

"Shut up," I snap, moving to take my seat again. I pause when I glance up to see the guy still standing there. "Well? The fuck are you still doing here?"

"Chill, man," Collins chuckles, his hand still pressed to my shoulder, "Let Mark talk to the boy. If he wants to dance, let him dance!"

"Mark doesn't want to dance with..._him_!" I snarl, watching as Collins' eyebrows shoot up.

"Shit, man. Quit being so…"

"Possessive?" Angel offers, and Collins kisses her on the lips lightly, thanking her under his breath before nodding vigorously.

"I…I'm not…" I stutter, taking another swig of beer before realizing that the bottle is empty.

"Jealous?" Collins grins lopsidedly, and I quickly turn on him.

I see Angel barely containing her laughter, her dark eyes glinting in amusement as she presses her lips tightly together. It only takes a quick glance around the table to see that everyone is doing the same, Maureen and Joanne muffling their laughter behind their drinks. I look to Mark expecting to find the same reaction but instead being slightly surprised to see him staring openly at me, his eyes clear, not mocking, and only slightly questioning.

"I, uh…I've gotta go," I mumble as I brush past Collins, muttering an apology to Mark as I pass him.

I quickly make my way out of the club, clutching my leather jacket to my chest and pulling it on as soon as I'm out of the crowded area. I wrap my scarf around my neck and push open the door, feeling the brisk, chill night air surround me as I walk onto the sidewalk.

That was stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. What the hell was that, anyway?

I know Collins was right…I was being possessive. But of Mark? Of my roommate? That's a new one to add to that list. It's never happened before, that feeling of jealousy I got when that guy just waltzed up and nonchalantly asked Mark to dance with him. Who the hell did he think he was?

Fucking club, fucking guy, fucking cold, fucking jealousy, fucking Mark. Why didn't Mark say anything? He could've said anything at any time. I wasn't stopping him. He just sat there staring at me with those dumb blue eyes of his.

Fucking blue eyes…

"Roger!" Shit. I walk faster, pretending I didn't hear the filmmaker's call. "Roger!" he gasps, out of breath from running down the sidewalk in order to catch up with me. His hand grasps my shoulder and he spins me around to face him, my immediate reaction being my chest tightening at the way his cheeks are tinted pink from the cold, making it somewhat difficult to breathe.

"Yeah?" I ask, raising an eyebrow and trying to play the color I know is rising in my face off as nothing. It_ is_ fucking cold out here…

"What was that?" he asks, gesturing back to the club. I shrug and let my eyes fall to the sidewalk, noticing Mark's torn and tattered green sneakers. How long has he had those? Looks like they belong to some middle school kid. "Roger…" he sighs, and I glance back up to meet his gaze.

"I…look, I'm sorry. I don't know what that was. Go back and dance with whoever the hell you want, Mark." I shrug again, for lack of anything better to do, but I can't help but notice the envious edge my voice has in it.

"You're not very convincing, Rog," Mark snorts, and I glare at him, "Why did you get so…"

"Jealous?" I suggest, taking steps towards him and forcing him back into the outside wall of the club, the music pounding through the building.

"Well…yeah," he says, swallowing thickly. I smirk and shrug, backing away from him slowly to let him move away from the wall again.

"I don't know. Maybe I just didn't want to have to see you with that guy's hands all over you. He wasn't that good looking, anyways."

"That's not the point, Roger," Mark sighs, and I snap my gaze over him again.

"Mind telling me, then?" I snarl, advancing on the filmmaker as I quickly lose my temper, "Because this is getting to be really fucking annoying, everyone asking me why did I do this, why am I jealous? Why am I fucking moody?" Mark backs himself into the wall of the club again, and I shove him roughly into it, his body pinned between mine and the building. "Why am I possessive of you, Mark," I hiss, feeling Mark's fingers grip my leather jacket tightly.

I pull back only slightly, my breath catching in my throat as I look down at Mark, his eyes shining questioningly – always fucking questioningly – his hair ruffled up and sticking out at strange angles, his tongue gliding in between his chapped lips nervously.

"Mark," I murmur, feeling my heart race in my chest, my blood pounding through my veins as I raise my hand to cup the side of his face lightly, feeling him shiver underneath my touch.

"Y…what?" he manages to choke out as I run my thumb down his cheek and over his lips, feeling his hot breath as he exhales shakily.

"Would you mind if I…?" I leave the question open ended as I slide my fingers down over his chin, letting my hand fall to my side.

"No," Mark breathes, and I quickly pull him away from the wall and into me, our lips crashing together as the filmmaker's fingers continue to dig into my leather jacket.

Since when have I wanted to kiss Mark?

Mark's lips move hesitantly over mine, pressing his body closer to me as I wrap my arms tightly around his waist, turning around so that I can lean up against the side of the building. I don't know, but right now it feels like I've wanted to kiss Mark for-fucking-ever.

I feel Mark's tongue brush over my lips and I suppress a moan, his fingers untangling from my jacket as he slides his arms around my neck, tilting his head just so as I open my mouth against his.

Our tongues collide, rubbing and sliding against each other in our frenzied kiss, and I hear Mark moan softly into my mouth.

Oh, God…Mark's warmth, the way his fingers tangle themselves into my hair, how his tongue moves and feels against mine… Why hasn't this happened before now? Years ago? It all feels so good, so right…so perfect.

I pull away slowly, not wanting the kiss to end, but fearing the light headedness that came as soon as Mark's lips touched mine. Wouldn't want to pass out…

"Mark," I whisper, seeing him look up at me with slightly frightened eyes, his lips red and wet, his cheeks even brighter than before.

"Roger," he replies steadily, his lips curving into a smile, a satisfied, content smirk that makes my heart race in my chest again.

"Do you…" I lean heavily into the wall, Mark's hips pulled closely into mine as I search for the right words to use. I quickly give up and settle on leaning forward, pressing my lips against Mark's cheek, trailing kisses to his ear. I run my tongue quickly over the fluttering pulse that's underneath the soft skin right below his ear, smirking when I hear the filmmaker gasp softly.

"Do you…" I whisper again, gently nibbling on Mark's earlobe as I start to unwrap the scarf that's wound tightly around his neck.

"Do I what, Rog?" he breathes, his fingers playing with my hair.

"Do you want to take this further…?" I ask, letting the scarf hang over his shoulder before pressing an open mouthed kiss to his neck, hearing Mark inhale sharply. "Like…" I say, my lips dancing over his skin, "do you want us…" I continue, gently licking along the pale skin on his neck, "to be a thing?" I finish, pulling back to look him in the eyes.

"I can't really…" I watch as he takes a deep breath, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment before he opens them again, a knowing smile playing about his lips, "I can't really say 'no' when you ask me like that, now can I?"

"Good," I smile, because I know, even though he's somewhat teasing, that he's telling the truth. I pull him in for another kiss, this one slower, less rushed as we explore on another's mouths, getting used to the feel of each other, the taste and pace of one another.

I would learn that Mark prefers the hot, rough, aggressive kisses as opposed to the soft, gentle ones that I would become fond of. Mark likes to be in control, but allows me to take the lead, knowing that I'd much rather be dominant. Mark likes it when I slide my fingers down his stomach, nearing the waistline of his jeans, as I kiss, lick, and bite at his neck.

But for now, right here, on this slummy New York City sidewalk, leaning against the wall of a run down club with Mark pulled tightly against me, all we know, and all we care about, is that it _feels right_.

I pull out of the kiss, my heart still pounding loudly in my chest, and I smile as I take his hand in mine, lacing our fingers comfortably together. Mark ducks his head and blushes, making my chest constrict before I lean over and kiss him softly on the cheek.

"Let's go back," I say quietly, stepping away from the wall, "They're probably wondering where we got to."

I flip Mark's scarf back over his shoulder, taking my last opportunity to nuzzle his neck lightly before it's covered up by the fabric, hearing him laugh quietly under his breath before fixing his scarf.

I lace our fingers together once he's finished, feeling warmth spread throughout me knowing that now I'm not alone, and I'll never be alone. Mark will stay with me, unlike so many other girls, Mark will stay with me.

We walk through the doors of the club, finding our group of friends again before sitting down quietly, unobtrusively, our hands remaining entangled underneath the table.

And when the spikey, pink haired guy makes his way over to our table again, asking Mark one last time to dance with him (guy sure is persistent), I promptly move out of my seat and into Mark's lap, grinning at the way the filmmaker's eyes dance as I straddle him and lean down to capture his lips in a searing kiss, my tongue shoving roughly into his mouth.

See? Possessive, jealous. All the things that I am.

Mark doesn't seem to mind, though.

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**AN: **This is for a challenge, so there are winners and what not...but really, I don't care. I just had tons of fun writing this. Hopefully you all liked reading it! Review if you feel so inclined. If not then, as I've said, hope ya liked it! Cheers!  



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